His Last Moments
by sharpiedoodler
Summary: What if Stefan had no hope for a cure to Damon's werewolf bite? How would they spend his last moments.


Stefan sat up on the huge bed in Damon's room. Beside him, under a fortress of thick blankets, was his brother. His dying brother. Damon's breathing was raspy and the bite on his stomach was getting worse by the second. It was sickening to look at. Stefan could see the venom spreading to Damon's heart, the veins slowly turning darker until they became black.

Stefan felt like someone was pocking a thin needle straight into his heart. He knew Damon was in more pain then him, from his tortured groans, but all Stefan could feel was the time passing too quickly. His brother was dying. Dying. Almost dead. Pre dead. The bucket was being kicked.

"Stef," Damon rasped. Stefan could hardly recognize his voice. Only hours ago, was he strong and healthy and now, he was lying limp on a bed as the venom from a werewolf bite slowly reached his heart.

"Another blanket?" Stefan asked.

Damon shook his head, "I'm sorry."

Stefan stared, completely shocked. Of all the things

"I've been shit to you, for," He was interrupted by a couching fit, "For over a century."

"Doesn't matter, yeah," Stefan told him quickly, "Apology accepted." Now was not the time for Damon to start brooding over all the shit they did to each other over the years. He didn't want their last moments to be remembering how awfully they treated one another.

Damon squirmed, "No. You don't know," Damon hesitated.

"Don't know what?" Stefan pressed.

Damon closed his eyes, "Nothing."

"Not the time for secrets, Damon," Stefan told him. Trust Damon to be difficult on his death bed.

Damon's face contorted into a smile, or at least Stefan thought it was a smile. To him, it looked like a particularly vulgar grimace. He relaxed again.

"Damon, please," Stefan rolled his eyes. It was no use. Damon was more stubborn than a mule, "Never mind." He glanced down at his brother. If it wasn't for his raspy breaths, he looked dead already. His face had a greyish tinge and the motionless posture he kept was scaring him.

"Don't die on me, Damon! You promised me an eternity! This is only a hundred and a half years. Come on, you self serving jerk," Stefan ranted. When his brother offered no reply, Stefan realized he was asleep. Oh God, he thought. He had just seen his brother's final waking moments.

No. No, Stefan thought. This wasn't enough time! Damon shouldn't even of died in the first place. Maybe if he had never came to Mystic Falls, or if he had never dated Elena, or if he had never forced Damon to become a vampire all those years ago, this wouldn't be happening. Stefan felt himself tearing up. They should of died a hundred and sixty years ago, not lived this awful existence. If only he hadn't gone to see their father…

Stefan took a deep breath. It's time. He placed his hand on Damon's forehead, which was so hot it could be an oven and grabbed the stake on the bedside table.

He forced an image into Damon's head. It was home, back in 1863. The year before Katherine came in and ruined everything. Damon was beside him, lying on the cool grass. He was wearing long trousers and a button up shirt, the norm back then. Stefan hadn't seen Damon in that getup for decades.

The pair stared up at the cloudless sky. They weren't wearing any daylight rings and the sun shone in their faces. Stefan looked over at his brother. He seemed to be soaking up the sunlight and breathing in the fresh air.

Damon smiled, "Miss this place, brother?" He asked. Stefan was relieved to hear the smoothness of his voice. He sounded strong and healthy again, even if he was lying on his bed, dying, in real life.

Stefan nodded, "Course. Nothing but ruins now."

The grin slid off Damon's face. "Always the optimist, huh."

Stefan chuckled. It was low and throaty, "You know me."

Stefan glanced at Damon's heart. The black venom was only milliseconds away. They had seconds at most.

"Up for some football?" Stefan asked, standing up.

Damon hopped to his feet, "When have I said no to that?"

Stefan grabbed the football that was lying next to him. He saw Damon run across the endless expanse of grass. Stefan aimed.

Stefan tightened his grip on the stake. Now or never. He let it lightly touch his brother's skin, aiming it for minimal pain, before bringing it up again.

"You going to throw that, brother?" Damon demanded, already a fair distance away. He could see the huge grin lighting up his face.

Stefan smiled, looking at his brother one last time, before throwing the football. Damon caught it and cheered.

Stefan plunged the stake into his brother's heart. He recoiled back from the body like a whip, hitting the wall opposite with a loud thump. He watched in horror as his brother's skin turned grey, his veins becoming more and more pronounced until it barely looked like his brother. The stake was still in his heart. He should take it out, Stefan decided, he couldn't let the stake that killed him stay like that. Stefan approached Damon cautiously, half hoping he would burst back to life, punch Stefan for staking him and then joke about it later, a glass of bourbon in his hand. But he stayed still and grey, unmoving. Stefan reached for the stake and ripped it out. He threw it out the window. Stefan numbly grabbed one of the dozens of blankets loaded onto his brother's body and pulled it above his head. He was about to leave the room when he saw his brother's hand fall out from the blankets. He still had his sun ring on. Stefan slipped it off his finger and placed it in his pocket, before he stepped outside, looked one last time at the form under the blankets, the body that belonged to his brother and closed the door.

* * *

That's it. Just a little one shot I wrote ages ago that I had completely forgotten about it. Hope you liked it and thanks for reading.


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